Interesting Condolences
by Gothikalea
Summary: You'd think that Harry'd have more sense than to approach Lucius Malfoy and ask to be taken to the Dark Lord. But then again, once insane, most people don't really have sense, do they? HP/LV Slash.  Discontinued
1. Chapter 1

/Yin && Yang

- "My Lord."  
Lucius, clad in his black Death Eater garb, slightly shivered mentally. He'd never seen the Dark Lord so pleased, and although it didn't create an onerous situation, Lucius was still unnerved. The abundance of Dark magic flowing from Lord Voldemort was enough to choke the Malfoy, although he was the Dark Lord's right hand man and was usually exposed to his Dark magic.  
- Voldemort smirked - smirked, because the Dark lord did not /smile/ - quite pleased with his subordinate.  
"You shall be rewarded, Lucius. Bring - " Voldemort's almost non-existant lips twitched, amused at the prospect - "the boy inside."  
The elder Malfoy bowed, then left to bring Harry in. He wasn't surpsied when he didn't meet resistance; if anything, he had to hold the boy back from rushing into the room. The Dark Lord dismissed his servant as Harry entered the room (much to Lucius's gratefulness; he was beginning to suffocate) and was interested to find that the Dark magic had no effect on Harry. If anything, the teenager seemed to be calmed by it, attracted, intrigued - he glanced around wildly for the source of the magic leak.  
Upon ascertaining that Voldemort and his throne were the only objects in the room, and that the chair did not hold any Dark magical properties, Harry met his daring emerald eyes with Voldemort's amused scarlet, and a long silence ensued.  
- Then Harry said, "Hello, Riddle,"  
and laughed maniacally like the madman he'd come to be.

yrra**H!**kra**D && W**e **w**ill **c**ommence **! **

- Pain.  
Harry had become accustomed to it over the years; he never even fought back anymore. It wasn't worth it - resistance equalled extra punishment, of which was not favorable.  
- Oh yes, he still wished that they would stop. He'd been wishing that for fourteen years. He wished that his virginity hadn't been taken by those of whom he was not even slightly inclined to deal with on speaking terms, nevermind sexually. He'd gotten used to that part too, of course (as a matter of fact, being raped was much more enjoyable than being tortured, as the lessons were usually shorter), but he still felt tainted, as if a part of his innocence had been taken away. He also wished that Dumbledore would take him away from here, away from his messed up 'family' (if you could call it that).  
- He also knew that all three wishes were not about to come true.

- Self-induced pain.  
Now, that was different. Cutting oneself is always different from being cut by another. For example, when injuring oneself, the person doing so knows exactly of when the razor-blade will strike the skin, of how deep it will slip through, and, should they be skillful and able to control the blade, they should also be able to control how much pain is created by the cut. In order to simply have a daily dose of pain without consequences, the best way is to continuously give oneself light nicks with the blade over a certain space on the arm; this will allow for blood to seep out, and pain to commence, but not enough to stain any clothing or cause faintness. For a deeper effect, continue doing so until the blade begins to cut through not only the skin, but the meat - and for a longer, lasting effect yet, slashing wildly usually creates a deep gash of which usually satiates the wish for pain.  
- Should it not, a well self-aimed Crucio will most certainly do the trick.  
Harry, of course, has experimented and figured out all of these ways.

- Friendship.  
What defines a friend? Is it the affection one feels to another? Is it loyalty? Or is it the act of putting up with another simply for appearances?  
Hermione and Ron are not friends of Harry. They do not know or care about Harry's situation. They'll let him cut as long as it doesn't get to the public eye. As long as it does not taint their image, their feelings are not evoked. Some friends they are.  
- So Harry has imaginary friends. Imaginary friends are better than real friends, because they do whatever Harry wants. They do not betray, nor do they bother. They can be whatever Harry wants, whomever Harry wants. There are no false pretenses of love.  
Ron and Hermione may not like him; they may only be pretending.  
- But that is okay. Because Harry has his imaginary friend Tom Marvolo Riddle - or as most would call him - the _Dark Lord._

- Dumbledore.  
Dumbledore knows all of this, yet he does not do anything. Perhaps he seems to find it amusing. Or perhaps he has finally become the senile old man that age can be the cause of. In any case, his oblivious nature towards Harry most certainly only does harm to the Light's saviour. If he can be called that, that is. Who knows, the poor boy may be irrevocably beyond repair.  
- Nothing a good _Imperio_ couldn't fix though, right?

yrra**H!**kra**D && W**e **w**ill **c**ommence **! **

- At one point, Harry's imagination became his reality. He'd often find himself talking to Voldemort rather than studying or doing his summer homework. And the Dark Lord was always there during his explorations of how much blood he could shed without fainting, or dying -  
Sometimes he was bitter, as although he knew his life was worth a substantial bounty (he _was _the only one who could kill the Dark Lord, after all), he also knew that that was all it was - a substantial bounty, and that there were no other reasons to keep himself alive.  
- His life was worth nothing else.  
See, at least Voldemort got that.

- They hit me again," Harry said plainly, closing his eyes and conjuring the image of Riddle in his snakelike glory, slitted red eyes and all, in his mind.  
Voldemort dragged his coarse fingernails over Harry's bruise harshly, inflicting more pain. "Such a pity, Potter. They're bruising your flawless face."  
"Bruises are bad, aren't they?" The skinny raven-haired boy inquired breathlessly, sighing and wishing he could touch the cold hard chest of the _real_ Dark Lord. "Cuts are better, aren't they?"  
"_Yesss_, _Potter_." The imagined Parseltongue caused Harry to shiver. "_Such beautiful skin. Blood looks good on this skin._"  
Harry smiled, reaching under his pillow for what he knew would be there. It was always there. No one ever bothered to search for it. He replied back in the same language, "_I ssshould cut, ssshouldn't I_?"  
"_You ssshould._"  
"_Then I shall_," Harry breathed quietly, eyes still closed.  
- He plunged the razor into his wrist.

- "They didn't hurt me today," Harry pondered aloud, arms out flat against his old, dirty bedsheets.  
"Perhaps that is because they are not here today, Potter."  
Harry wrapped his mind around this idea. It made sense. "What should I do then?" He mused, smiling at the prospect of a Dursley-less day.  
There was a moment's silence.  
What Harry's imaginary friend said next wiped the smile off of the boy's face.  
- "Cut."

- Pain.  
The Dark Lord was used to pain, but it had been a while since he had felt it - the last time was when he was back at the orphanage,  
Back when he was Tom.  
The torture was mainly due to the fact that he was _different_, and the others must've found it amusing to hurt him.  
_Tom._  
He spat.  
Disgusting weak Muggle name.  
Another torrent of pain enveloped him, of which was so strong he even winced a little from it. The Death Eaters around him noticed this and Voldemort saw, annoyedly, a few expressions of hope among his not-so-loyal followers.  
And then, again came the torment - but he didn't wince this time.  
- He _had _to get Potter to stop sending him this damned pain. After he Crucio'd the Death Eaters, of course.


	2. Chapter 2

CHP2

/Yin && Yang - Would like to explain that there are various mentions of blood & rape within this story Don't like HP/LV? Don't read. No flames, please. 3 Disclaimer: HP and LV (C) J.K. Rowling

yrrastrongH!/strongkrastrongD W/stronge strongw/strongill strongc/strongommence strong! /strong

- "Potter."  
The Dark Lord whispered his name quietly, almost eerily in a sense. It was with an undertone of danger, of which Harry either ignored or did not catch as he smiled dreamily, his eyes still closed.  
"Mmm. Hello, Voldemort."  
So his Legilimency hadn't proven false. The boy really had become attached to him - although it was an image of him, a projection of which the boy had created simply to ease himself.  
The silence of which Harry was greeted with slightly unnerved him; what was this, a dream? Was it not possible to control his imaginary friend in dreams? Usually Tom would have replied with a hiss or a "Hello, Potter." Yet, the fact that he was thinking about dreaming meant that he was, in fact, not dreaming - so did that mean that this Voldemort of whom was talking to him was actually real? If so, why was he still alive?  
A little scared, he decided to test this out. "Are the Dursleys back yet? Do I have to get up and make breakfast?"  
The Dark Lord found great amusement in knowing everything that was going through the boy's mind. "No, Potter."  
Harry couldn't interpret anything from that answer. It had simply been the truth. He decided to try again. "It-it'd be nice if they didn't come back."  
The Dark Lord raised an almost nonexistant eyebrow at this. "I can arrange that for you, if you like."  
...That wasn't a normal, programmed response.  
Harry opened his eyes.  
And gasped.

- "Aren't you going to kill me?" Harry asked stiffly, after a few moments' silence.  
Voldemort's red eyes glittered threateningly. "Yessss...yet you are still alive."  
Harry did not answer this rhetorical statement, instead changing the topic, a little irritated. "How did you get in here, anyway?" Obviously Dumbledore's wards were Not Working, of which he had informed Dumbledore of already, yet he Did Not Do Anything about it.  
"...Surely you know the answer to that."  
Harry stared at him blankly.  
The side of the Dark Lord's mouth twitched, although Harry was not sure of whether it was from amusement or annoyance. "Fourth year, Potter."  
Harry frowned. "The...blood? From your resurrection?"  
"Precissseely."  
Harry looked at him blankly, assessing his percentage of death, then, satisfied that he was not about to be Avada Kedavra-ed, curled up in the corner of his bed contentedly. "...So why are you here?"  
It was time to get down to business. "You have been continuously sending me pain." He, much to Harry's interest and slight amusement, conjured a black wooden chair and sat facing the teen. "This has become a problem, during my meetings and raids especially."  
Okay. "And you can't use Occlumency because...?"  
Voldemort looked at the boy expressionlessly and patiently.  
"You won't be able to send me nightmares?" Harry guessed.  
"As much as I love sending you nightmares, Potter, that is hardly a reason to block your thoughts."  
A frown covered the boy's face, of which was replaced with enlightenment after a few seconds. "Ah. You won't be able to obtain any information from my thoughts if you're blocking them."  
The Dark Lord's lips curled into a smirk. "It is nice to know that my archenemy is able to use his brain at times."  
Harry sighed and splayed his arms and legs out on his bed. "It's not like I have any information I can relay to you, anyway. They won't let me into the Order. Idiots, treating me like a kid."  
"And if you were, Potter? Would you ...'relay' information to me?"  
"Of course not," the boy huffed. Then, slowly, "...But then again, it's not like I would have a choice." He didn't seem to be too bothered by it, though, almost cheerful, even.  
Interesting. "And your relatives, I am capable of arranging for them to stop."  
Harry sat straight up. "You can? How? I don't want them to die, though, 'cuz then Dumbledore will be on my ass."  
Voldemort chuckled at this (much to Harry's interest; he had no idea the Dark Lord was capable of humor). "You shall see. However, there are a ffew exchanges I would like."  
An expression of suspicion immediately permeated the boy's face. "Like what?"  
"One: I will have the right to any information you come in contact with, meaning you will submit your mind to me." He looked at the boy expectantly, and Harry nodded, so he continued. "Two, permission to...coerce your relatives into stopping the torture, (Harry snickered at this. Like the Dark Lord really needed permission) and three - I will confisticate the razor, and you will not Crucio yourself or cause pain to yourself in any other way. This way I will not be disturbed and you will not be hurt."  
The third term made Harry automatically sputter a "No."  
Voldemort narrowed his crimson eyes. There was an air of impatience surrounding him. "I will give you one more chance, boy. Do not be foolish."  
Harry looked down, frowning and pouting slightly. He weighed the options, knew which one was for the better, but was stubborn. He was about to whimper another "no" when the Dark Lord, a twisted, cynical grin on his face, suddenly siezed the boy's face, eliciting a painful, surprised gasp from the boy, and planted his long, white fingers on Harry's scar.

HONEY I'VE BEEN OVER AND OVER AND OVER THIS CHAPTER AND I GIVE UP. (Yes, that's why it took so long. Because I fail at life.)  
It's just...I don't know. Not...It's not giving the feeling that I want it to.  
I'll keep writing this story only if I get a total of eight comments. xD I already have three, that's only five more, grr. Not that hard, since I have 13 waiting for the story. = ='

Anyway, tell me if there's weird stuff in this chapter because I don't like the twist it's taking.

You'll get what happened earlier later, this is all the flash-back part...Y'know.

GAAH BE NICE TO ME, I HAVE LOTS OF HOMEWORK TO DO FOR SCHOOL. 


	3. Discontinued

As you guys probably have noticed by now, I haven't written anything for a while.

This story is discontinued. I'm sorry, it's not that I don't love you guys and all, but I quite honestly had this plotbunny in my mind a year ago, and now have no idea where to go with this story because I've forgotten what I had in mind - I didn't write any notes down.

Not only that, but my writing style has changed dramatically and I highly doubt that any additional chapters would be able to flow well with the story.

I apologize, everyone. Anyone who wants to pick this story up ( although I doubt that anyone will, considering it's relative failure-ness ) may do so and I don't mind.

In any case, I started a new story, however, it is HP/TR and Malfoycest; many people who liked this story may not like the other one as it is quite OOC and much more mild in terms of coldness and violence and torture overall Voldemort-ness.

If you do decide to take a look at it, thank you - if not, thank you for even reading this story. I'd love to delete it, and put it behind me, but I'll keep it so a few years down the road I can remind myself about how bad I was at writing. 


End file.
